The Way I Shine, aka Glimmer's Story
by MaiWad
Summary: Do you think you know Glimmer? Are you sure? I bet you don't even know her surname. In this story, you'll find out how hard Glimmer's life is, as she goes through life before and during the games. Includes Glato, in later chapters!
1. Chapter 1: The Way I Was Raised

Chapter 1: The Way I Was Raised

My eyes tremble with tears as I take the stage. Eloisa fixes her burnt orange wig, but her sickling smile remains. How can she be happy about this every year? She fits elegant gloved fingers into mine, and holds up my hand, high into the air. The audience cheer and applause. They love this. And I did. Until I got picked.

"Glimmer Sparks, ladies and gentlemen!" shrieks Eloisa. I fake a smile, and manage a small wave with my free hand. What am I doing? I should be proud of this honour. I am going into the arena. To fight for the pride of my district. I _should_ be proud. But I am not. I am shaking. A tear falls, but no-one seems to notice. I continue smiling, and waving, until she releases my hand. And the second name is reaped.

And then I awake. I take some deep breaths, until I am completely calm. I rub my eyes, before checking my alarm clock. Nine! Its nine o'clock and I have slept in. I rush to my dressing table, and take a seat. I hear a knock at the door.

"Hello, Glimmer!" a voice shouts. "It's Bee, dear."

I smile. Bee. She always calms me down. Bee is technically our "maid," but I consider her more as a friend. As she enters, I notice she is already dolled up and ready. Her usual black, loose hair is scrunched into a messy bun. Instead of her casual, dirty work clothes she is wearing a pretty white dress, with matching white shoes. Her face is smothered in make-up, even though she doesn't need it. She is a natural beauty.

Bee is holding a tray, which is filled with my breakfast. Eggs, bacon, everything. "Here you go," she beams. She sets it down on my bed, and I nod, thankfully. "Eat up. Big day." She winks at me, and gives me a 'thumbs up', before heading out.

"Bee." I say. She turns back, smiling as usual. "I had a nightmare." I admit.

She frowns. She knows what it was about. "Listen, Glim," she says, sitting on my bed. She taps lightly next to her, asking me to join her. I hesitate, as it seems babyish, but then I do. She pulls me to her side, and I lean in, hugging her. "You are not going to get picked. Okay?" she says in a reassuring way. I nod, and then regain my upright position. She stands up, after lightly kissing my forehead. I smile. Is it strange calling a thirty-two year old woman your best friend? I hope it is not. She leaves the room, closing the door behind her, because she knows that's the way I like it. I don't know how I would live without Bee.

I quickly eat all my breakfast, just leaving the toast crust, and a couple of beans. Sitting back at my dressing table, I brush my hair, and then notice my reflection. I have puffy eyes. I have been crying in my sleep. Why? Am I _that_ scared of getting reaped? I must be. But, how?

Ever since I was eleven years old, I trained for the games. Six days a week, until we had to stop. When I turned thirteen, the law changed. If you trained for the games, it was considered illegal. It was considered 'unfair.' It was 'District 11 and 12 cannot afford this equipment', or something similar.

We are lucky. Here in District 1, we are the richest of all the districts. Our industry is luxury items. My father works in a business, where they brainstorm ideas for the Capitol's use. He is a brilliant artist, and is well-known for his talent. He is amongst the richest people in the District. He ranked second last year, after the great mayor himself.

I jump, as the door slams open. Speak of the devil. It's my father.

He's wearing a classic suit, especially for today. But he's not here to reassure me that everything will be okay today. He never is.

"Hello, father." I say, sarcastically. He has the usual sweaty, scrunched up look, on his face.

"Where's my cufflinks?" he growls, aggressively. "Well?" He approaches me, his red eyes full of anger. "Where have you hidden them?"

"Well. I-I- erm." I stammer, struggling. I despise my father. I despise him only because he despises me. And everyone else who gets in his way.

"Glimmer!" he snaps. "I have raised you better than this! Where are my damn cufflinks, you-"

As usual, I ignore all of his cursing. He calls me every curse word you could imagine. And more. He calls me things that I hadn't even have heard of before.

Obviously, I don't know where is damn cufflinks are. Even if I did, I wouldn't tell him. He abuses me, sometimes, but mother always stops him. She yells at him, several times, slaps him and then sends him off to the shed, or his fathers. I'm always happy about that, because she always treats me well, and gives me lots of attention.

"Are you listening to me?" my father exclaims, as I snap out of my daydream. "You're not a child anymore! You're seventeen!"

_Yes, thank you for reminding me of my age, father. _I think. _I almost forgot._

Instead I say "Maybe they're in your closet?"

"What?" my father shrieks.

"Your cufflinks." I say. "Maybe they're on that other jacket? The one you wore for dinner at the mayors?"

My father freezes, and considers this. Of course they are. He remembers. But this doesn't calm him down.

He grasps the collar of my shirt, and aggressively pushes me against the wall.

"How did you know that?" he yells. He bashes my head several times, and I can barely speak. My head hurts. "HOW?"

"I-I-" I murmur. Suddenly, I collapse to the floor. He has released me, and his attention has turned to the doorway. There, stands my hero. My mother.


	2. Chapter 2: The Way I Live

Chapter 2: The Way I Live.

My mother's hands are grasped tightly on her hips, and her eyes are locked onto my fathers. Her left eyebrow is raised, and she narrows her eyes. I just stare. My mother and father could start fighting at any moment. Instead, my mother just says; "Have you found your cufflinks?"

My father bites his lip, and his cheeks flush. My mother has that overpowering, which can make anyone feel ashamed of their crime.

"Have you found your cufflinks?" repeats my mother, more harshly. My father shakes his head, and stares at the floor. My mother gestures her clenched left fist to my father's face. It seems like she's going to punch him. But she doesn't. She loosens her grip. There they are. My father's cufflinks; in the palm of her hand.

My father gives a weak smile, and then reaches for them. My mother quickly snatches them away.

"No." she says. "You know the rules."

I smile, as I spot Bee's nose coming in from the doorway. My mother turns round, faking a smile. "Bee," she says, trying to keep calm. "Can you get Glimmer ready please?"

Bee nods, and lifts me from the ground. She guides me to the living room. I can't help but let my mind wander what is going to happen to my father. Will he get sent to the shed? Or to his fathers? Or maybe this is the final straw. And he will be gone. Forever.

I stop. This could happen. Weirdly, I don't want it to. I'd… miss him.

Bee lays out my reaping outfit on the couch. A flowing sky-blue dress, dressed with silk. The shoes are graceful, white high heels. I recognize this outfit. Somehow.

"Bee, whose dress is this?" I blurt out.

"Yours, silly." she jokes.

"No." I laugh. "I mean originally. I've seen this before."

I notice that Bee blushes, slightly. "This was mine."

_That's it! _I think. _Bee's Blue Bees-knees!_

That was the nickname I gave it. She wore it at the reaping, about five years ago. It was my first year eligible to be a tribute, and I remember her wearing it. She looked so beautiful. And know it's my turn.

"But, Bee." I say. "You… you loved this dress."

"And I still do," she smiles. "But it doesn't fit me anymore. It's perfect for you. It matches your eyes, and I even bought some…"

Before she can say another thing, I give her a huge hug. I whisper the words 'thank you' several times. When I let go, she plays with my hair for a while, before brushing it and styling it. She is just like my mother. Even better.

After she is done, she helps me into my dress. I expected it to be itchy, and uncomfortable. In fact, it's quite the opposite. The elegant dress fits me perfectly, and the shoes slide on easily. Bee smiles at me, as she fixes the shoulder straps. "Good to go?" she asks. I nod, and stare at the clock. It is 11:30.

"Can I have a quick nap first?" I ask, hopefully. I am exhausted, with all the 'excitement' this morning. Bee nods. "Okay." she says. "We're leaving at 12. Don't mess up your hair!"

I laugh, but agree. "I won't."

I curl up on the couch, desperately wanting to undo my hair. It has become uncomfortable, and I just want to rag it out. And that's when I remember my dream.

Me. Eloisa. Reaped. Crying. Smile. Applause. Proud. Second name.

And then I awake.


	3. Chapter 3: The Way I Worry

Chapter 3: The Way I Worry.

"Glimmer?" says Bee, nudging my shoulder. "Glimmer? Are you okay?"

"Yes." I lie. "I'm fine." I sit up, and rub my eyes. "How long was I asleep?" I ask.

"Barely five minutes," says Bee. "You must have had a nightmare. You were shaking. Trembling. Are you scared?" I shake my head. I'm never scared. I have never experienced being scared. So, why am I scared now? It's my sixth year in the reaping. I haven't been worrying since my first ever one. Why now? Why today?

Bee helps me stand, and dusts down my dress down. It doesn't really need getting dusted down, but I suppose it's just her habit. She fixes some strands of hair that have fallen out of place. She works too hard. Everything has to be perfect.

I frown when I see tears in her eyes. "Bee." I say. "Bee, don't cry." Bee shakes her head, as if to clear her thoughts. She wipes some tears away with her thumb, but they are uncontrollable.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says, as she covers her face in her hands. "I don't know what came over me."

I shake my head. "You have nothing to apologise for." I say. "I've been like this too."

"Why _this_ year?" asks Bee. "I mean, every other year I've been scared for you. But this year…"

"Something feels different." I finish off. "Yes. I know. I feel it too. Something's… different."

"But, what?" asks Bee.

"I suppose because my name's in there more times. Six times." I reply. That's probably why. Isn't it? Six times. But, what about the other children? Some people, who sign up for tesserae, have their names in the reaping more times. One name for each family member, per year, along with the annual name added each year. My 18 year old friend Bliss' name is in the reaping 40 times this year. 40 times! Imagine that. I wouldn't cope; I wouldn't even make it to the reaping.

Then I hear something, which makes my heart skip a beat. Bee barely whispers the words, but I understand them clearly.

"Six is my unlucky number."

I can hear my heart beating, faster and faster. I understand why Bee's unlucky number is six. It was probably in the back of my mind all along. Bee told me the story, the day before my first reaping.

_I was your age, at the time. 12. My first reaping too. I lived with my aunt and uncle- since my mother died a year before-and my twin brother, Nathan. He was eager for the reaping. He couldn't wait. I didn't understand why. Until the reaping begun. They began with the girls. I prayed that my name wouldn't get chosen. It didn't. But it was my friend, Alisha Pontin. I didn't know what to do. I should have volunteered, but I didn't. No-one volunteered. There were no careers back then. She was crying. Only 12. Knowing she was going to die. Then, it was time for the boys. Mitchell Moss. He was fourteen, with lush blond hair and big green eyes. He smiled when his name was reaped. Like he was happy. But his luck changed. My brother volunteered. My 12 year old twin brother volunteered for a strangers place. _

"_I volunteer! I volunteer! I volunteer! I volunteer! I volunteer! I volunteer!" he shouted. Six times. _

_The district was appalled. Two idiotic 12 year olds, going to fight to their death. Half of them were shouting about how they were too young. The other half were moaning about how we would lose. _

_When we went to say our goodbyes, I couldn't stop crying. I knew at least one of them would die. If not, both. _

_I remember the games. The arena was a jungle. When the games began, Alisha died in the bloodbath. Nathan grabbed a pack, and survived. I found out something about him. He could kill. He killed six tributes. Six cannons. Six tributes left. _

_The next morning, he woke up, and someone had stolen his food. He needed food. He travelled throughout the jungle, until he found a berry bush. These were no ordinary berries. He picked some. One, two, three. Not enough. Four, five, six. Perfect. He ate them. I cried as he pushed those berries to his lips. They were nightlock. _

I can understand why six is her unlucky number. But I believe that she is a little paranoid. However, it is a coincidence. Six tributes killed. Six tributes left. Six berries. 666.


End file.
